


the past is never dead (it is not even past)

by Hnybnny



Series: Mors Renascentia [4]
Category: DragonFable (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, yeah that title is a rusty lake reference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hnybnny/pseuds/Hnybnny
Summary: She knows what he’s been through, and who he used to be- the question is, how?





	the past is never dead (it is not even past)

It was about two weeks ago when she arrived in town; Falconreach was eerily silent at the time, but that was not uncommon ever since their hero had been frozen in ice. Lore itself was missing them, is what Ash had said. The townsfolk could not deny it. Could not or perhaps, didn’t want  _ to _ .

The young woman was disheveled and unkempt, ragged tears in her mage’s robes and open cuts and sores caked with dirt. She seemed to not notice any of this, as she looked past the guards who spoke concernedly to her at the gates, to some far over their shoulder. She plucked a tuft of gorillaphant fur out of her messy hair, sniffed, and walked on into the town.  _ A refugee _ , the guards assumed. They weren't exactly wrong in that word.

Ash was the first to engage her, young eyes wide with worry, ushering her towards the local healer or at least the inn,  _ Avatars _ woman you are hurt- 

Her features contorted when he spoke that word,  **Avatars** , and she shoved him away.  _ Can smell her on you _ , she said, pausing with each word.  _ Celeritas _ . Ash didn’t understand, and could only watch with a frown as the presumed mage stumbled away on unsteady feet- a gait not of someone injured, but more of a child still learning how to properly walk. He had met many odd people but something…. something here was different. But that wasn't important now.

 

* * *

 

 

The local weaponsmith was summoned a few hours later. 

Not  _ because _ he was a weaponsmith, mind you, but because he was the most powerful mage in the town, and… well, he was weird. And at the current moment, the woman and the aura around her just screamed WRONG. And so that's how Cysero found himself in the doorway of Serenity’s inn, gazing through his bangs at the scruffy mage in the corner, curiously poking at a bowl of cooling oatmeal with a finger. 

“I'm telling you- she's not human.” Ash stage-whispered to him, sparing a sideways glance at Cysero who didn't turn his eyes from the woman. 

“If you want to debate what the definition of ‘human’ is in our crazy world today, I’d be happy to break out my philosophy books-”

“ _ No _ _!_ I mean…” The knight sighed. “I mean, when the healer looked her over… Her heart’s not beating.”

“She doesn't  _ look _ undead, but then again, I pride myself in not judging people.” 

“But there's not a single hint of darkness magic, no trace of reanimation.”

Cysero didn't reply, because at that moment the maybe-undead-girl looked up at him. And smiled. 

Being the polite person he was, Cysero grinned back, walked over, and sat down. 

“Hiya! I'm-” He started, but was cut off as she spoke.

“Good afternoon,  _ Captain _ .” Her smile did not falter. 

Cysero froze quite as suddenly, his mouth agape (one of the few times in his life he was without words, he realized later). 

She looked down and prodded again at the bowl, now having cooled considerably. Other than her poking, it was untouched. 

“ _ What  _ are you?” Were the first words out of Cysero’s mouth- not exactly the most polite, but his train of thought had just screeched to an emergency stop and probably wasn't moving anytime soon.

The woman’s eyes still did not focus, glazed over to a point, but yet she seemed attentive. “As opposed to  _ who _ ?” 

The weaponsmith nodded. 

“I am but a higher being.” She paused and tilted her head, “Like yourself.”

“Okay.” said Cysero. And that was it- a long pause, awkward on only one side. He could feel Ash’s eyes on him from the entrance of the inn. 

The woman abruptly stood up, slamming the chair behind her into the stone wall, ignoring the sharp sound as she stared down Cysero. “My name is Vehafor.” She looked down, frowning. “.... And I am confused by this meal of oats.” She walked away then, taking the steps to the rooms slowly and one at a time, Cysero looking after her. He hadn't even gotten more than a handful of words out, let alone another question. 

_ Captain…? _

Ash sat down in the now-vacant seat soon after with a  _ clank _ of his armor, giving a questioning look to the weaponsmith who was deep in thought, yet apparently quite busy shoveling the lukewarm oatmeal into his mouth. 


End file.
